


Best of all Gifts

by cowgirldressage1



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series, tos - Fandom
Genre: K/S Advent Calendar, M/M, Star Trek: TOS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 16:50:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowgirldressage1/pseuds/cowgirldressage1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim is alone on Christmas Eve or is he?  This is a story for 2012 k/s advent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best of all Gifts

Many thanks to my Beta, davidpierresb9, she was brilliant and patient with me, as I had never used one before. I learned a lot from her, tons of kudos!

The Best of all Gifts

Jim loved taking the Bart.  It was an ancient subway system. It’s metal cars bumped over old tracks, above ground and below San Francisco and the Bay. He usually didn’t mind the loudness, the crowded cars, the smells; it was archaic but always interesting.  Jim enjoyed watching the people on the train, especially this time of year.  They would have packages, sometimes wrapped in Christmas foil, sometimes just hanging out of a backpack.  He was childishly gleeful watching his fellow travelers, imagining their excitement for the holidays.

Jim looked out the scratched plastic window before the subway dipped below ground.  He could almost see the City as it might have looked before the last war, her elegant Victorians and glass skyscrapers silhouetted against the sky with the Bay and the bridges as backdrops.  It had changed over the last century and lost some of its attachment to the past.  

Now, with Starfleet Headquarters pressing its perimeters, San Francisco had become truly a Galaxy Class city, Andorian restaurants sat side by side with Tellerite and Ferengi “small shops”.  The Embarcadero was full of aliens from every corner of Federation space.  He could hear dozens of languages spoken so quickly; even the Universal Translator couldn’t keep up with them. Yes, San Francisco was an exciting place to be.

Jim missed space, though.  It had been an integral part of him but if he had to be grounded, mired in Starfleet politics, the City was his post of choice.  As a Fleet Admiral, his day was filled with paperwork and meaningless conversation.  It wasn’t that different from being the Captain of the Enterprise, those many years ago, except that the highs were not as high and thank god, the lows never reached the nadir of losing men.

The cold plastic seats of Bart were uncomfortable.  Jim shifted and wrapped his wool overcoat more tightly around him.  He’d considered taking an air car, it was faster, warmer and more comfortable, but there had been no real need to hurry home after his last meeting.  There was nothing to come home to, after all.

It was Christmas Eve.  As a boy, that meant a replicated Christmas tree, tasteless food and the promise that Santa Claus would bring him his heart’s desire. Presents, once opened, inevitably disappointed, being no substitute for real affection.  His family had tried, many times over the years, to have a kind of Norman Rockwell Christmas and failed.  He and his brother Sam had learned not to be put off. They’d learned early that ramping up for Christmas, the decorating, buying and wrapping presents, the promise that on this one day everything and everyone would bask in love lead to a certain disenchantment.  Christmas never quite lived up to its reputation.

As a child, he might have found satisfaction in Christmas’ religious underpinnings.  They’d gone to church regularly, he’d marveled over the crèche and participated in Holy Communion.  Jim had prayed.

As an adult, he’d found no solace in God. When God had turned his back on him, Jim had been relieved.  There was no higher power making decisions for mankind.  If God existed, he did a mighty poor job of being merciful and looking out for the innocent.  Jim, rather than being angry, had simply given up and embraced a generic belief that somebody, somewhere, had created something and hopefully knew where they all were going with it.

Ultimately, Christmas was mostly an ill-kept tradition for him.  On the Enterprise, in deference to other religions, this time of year had been generally celebrated as Solstice, incorporating Hanukah and Christmas, Kwanza and Sioppan, Verist and K’morrah. It meant a feast, decorating the Shuttle bay in red and green, and pretending to be Santa.  There had been both joy and nostalgia in the festivities, so many men and women separated from their families, they had somehow created their own among their crewmates.  

Since he had been grounded, younger men had taken those silvered starships places he’d been and dreamed of going, and he’d stayed mostly on Earth.  He rarely celebrated the holiday himself but frequently found himself caught up in the holiday traditions of others.

He’d gone to Uhura’s home one year, a farm house just off Lake Victoria in the eastern part of Kenya and been awed by the history and wildlife there.  She and her sisters welcomed him like a long lost brother.  Several evenings he sat on the daka porch, watching the giraffes tamely meander over the long lawns sloping down to the lake and listening to the splash of fish on dark water.  He’d reached for Spock’s hand, thinking he reminded him of those tall, awkward, ever curious creatures.

Another year he’d gone to Scotland, joining Scotty and a raucous band of relatives in Glasgow.  There had been drinking, singing, and dancing, so much so that he’d actually missed Christmas entirely, waking two days later with a crashing headache and a cool compress pressed to his forehead by a gentle, long fingered hand.

One of his favorite Christmases had been spent with Leonard McCoy and his family in Georgia.  Joanna, her husband and children, had congregated at the McCoy home, an aging wood house, near the old park.  The house had been decorated very traditionally, Christmas tree, holly, and garlands. The smell of roast beef, turkey, a Virginia ham, eggnog, and pies of every description, had permeated the air. Someone had placed mistletoe artfully over the doorways.  Much to Jim’s surprise, Spock had made use of each and every opportunity to kiss him, with a Vulcan swipe of his fingertips if others were present or in the human style if he thought he might not have witnesses.

The Bart deposited Jim at his stop and he began his walk home, coat pulled up around his ears.  He stepped beneath street lights, peeked in windows as he passed houses, admiring Christmas trees standing against front room windows, and holographic reindeer pawing on top of roofs, covered in synthetic snow.  He smiled, vicariously enjoying the celebrations of others.  

Jim turned down his street, in an old part of town, apartments dating from the 1900s.  His home was an old brownstone, built earlier, 1890s at least. It was one of the few survivors of the wars that had torn North America apart in 2100s.  He stood on the sidewalk, looked up at his dark windows, and straightened his wool scarf.  His house was normally so warm and welcoming but on this cold night, seemed desolate and sad.  

He shook his head, remembering that Spock, who made the house a home, was attending a conference on Altair.  He’d been gone for a month and was sorely missed. Scotty was with Spock, lecturing on emergent warp technology and Jim took some comfort in the fact that although he was away, at least he had a friend and confidant with him.

Jim let himself in, closing the old wood door behind him and stepped into the foyer, hanging his overcoat and uniform jacket on the old hand turned pegs on the wall.  With a sigh, he dropped his briefcase on the bench and turned toward the back of the house.  

He noticed a dim light coming from the living room and upbraided himself for leaving lights on.  He followed the glow down the long hall and turned right into the open archway leading into the living room.

Suddenly, he felt his stomach clench.  Someone had been here.  He quickly took in the smell of pine and the crackling of a fire in the ancient fireplace.  As he stepped into the room, wary, soft lights came on a Douglas fir, sitting to the right of the fireplace.  The tree was decked for Christmas, dim lights casting colorful shadows on the walls, reflecting off glass ornaments hanging from the tree’s limbs.  Jim stared, looked back at the merrily burning fireplace with two stockings hanging on the mantle, and had a brief moment of merriment that perhaps Christmas elves had visited him.  

Not elves, exactly.  From out of the shadows, a dark figure stepped, lifting an eloquent brow.

“Spock!”

“Indeed, Admiral.  Merry Christmas, I believe is the appropriate greeting.”

“Spock!”  Jim took in Spock’s beloved face and sighed happily.

“Yes?”  Spock walked toward him; hands tucked behind his back, but hesitated, suddenly unsure.

Jim mentally shook himself and strode to Spock, engulfing him in an all-encompassing hug.  Spock might have squeaked, but would later deny it.

Spock had something in his hands behind his back and when he reached to lay it down on the couch, Jim grabbed it with a grin.

“What’s this?”

“A present.”

Jim dropped the wrapped box on the couch and grabbed Spock by the shoulders.  “And here, I thought you were my gift.  What are you doing here?”

Spock wrapped his arms loosely around his waist and pressed his forehead against Jim’s.

“Mr. Scott and I decided that the conference could continue without our presence and returned to Earth in order to celebrate the holidays with our families.”

“Oh, and I am family?”

“Of course you are, Jim.”

Jim smiled, his nose bumping Spock’s. 

“And you decorated the house for Christmas?”

“I decorated our house for Christmas.”

Jim stepped back and studied his Vulcan.

“In that case, perhaps I should unwrap my present here.”

“Of course, Admiral, but you might prefer to make yourself comfortable first.”

Jim eyed Spock warily.  He had something up his sleeve but he was happy to go along with whatever Spock had planned. Giving Spock a mock glare, he stepped out of his arms and backed from the room, turned and virtually bounded up the stairs to the bedroom, where he found soft flannel pajamas laid out for him on the bed.

Barely ten minutes later, he was downstairs, plaid flannels skimming his slight paunch, feet pushed into faux sheepskin slippers.  He eagerly popped around the arch into their living room and saw Spock sitting back against their green velvet couch, looking deeply into the crackling fire, feet propped on the Stickney coffee table.  Spock had also changed, wearing a deep purple robe and ridiculously fluffy white slippers.  He greeted Jim with a slight smile.

Jim plopped down beside him, putting his feet up as well.  He glanced at the coffee table, wood glowing in the firelight and noticed the crystal decanter was set in the middle, surrounded by two small-stemmed glasses.  The decanter was filled with . . . something blue.

Pointing at the glasses, Jim noted, “So, Mr. Spock, it seems you have an agenda.”

“Not so, Admiral.  I merely wish to provide you with the appropriate environment for this holiday.”

Jim sobered, taking in the fire, the tree and the Christmas stockings hanging from the mantle.  “Spock, I’m touched you would go to this trouble.  But honestly, Christmas pales compared to just having you home with me.”

Spock stretched his arm behind Jim and pulled him into his warm side. Jim basked in the attention, allowing Spock to pet and caress him, not with seduction in mind, but with simple affection.

A few minutes passed, the two of them enjoying the fire.  Spock cleared his throat.  “Jim, what is Christmas to you?  I ask only because it seems to be difficult for you.  You embrace the traditions reluctantly and ignore the religious aspects in their entirety.”

Jim forced himself not to stiffen and instead leaned into Spock’s shoulder.

“It’s complicated.”

“I know, but I would like to hear why, if you are willing.”

Jim was silent for a few long minutes, gathering his thoughts.

“When I was a child, I was taught to believe in God.  I prayed to him every day and every night right up to the point I went to Tarsus.”

Spock breathed, pressing his cheek onto Jim’s hair.  “Jim, you do not . . .”

“No, you asked, and this story has been too long in coming.  On Tarsus, I learned that there was no mercy, no compassion, no kindness, when humans are desperate.  I saw my aunt pray to save her daughter.  She starved to death.  I saw our neighbor pray to protect his son, but he died too, needlessly in the food riots.  I learned to not trust God, he or she or it will do what they will, the rest of us can’t rely on it or them.  We make our own solutions and create our own justice.”

Spock’s hand opened on Jim’s head and pressed him closer.  This was an old, deep wound that every being must resolve for themselves.  Spock couldn’t provide any real answers.

“Jim,” Spock started hesitantly, “I am not a Christian, but many of the Christian beliefs are similar to Surak’s philosophy.  Mercy, compassion, kindness, and yes, logic, are ideals to strive toward, not guarantees.  Is it possible that this ideology is simply a framework, set down by someone or something wiser than we that we should strive toward?  I know you.  You have lived by that creed your entire life.  Is not that the purpose behind such beliefs, to give you a path to follow, if you will?”

“I didn’t follow that path on Tarsus.  There are decisions I have made since that hardly showed mercy or compassion.”

Spock turned toward him, visibly upset.  “That is untrue.  I have known you since and you have always chosen the best reasoned path, the most compassionate, whenever the facts have allowed.”

Jim looked Spock in the eyes. “Yes, and isn’t that the same excuse Kodos used?  The facts allowed!  I have made decisions that were expedient, for the good of the service, and they weren’t necessarily the ‘right’ ones. If God is benevolent and all powerful, why wouldn’t he stop some of the atrocities we’ve seen?”

“Jim, I do not know.  I do know you are honorable and compassionate, sometimes to a fault.  The responsibility for the actions of others is not yours.”

“No, maybe not, but if I remember and regret all the petty cruelties that I have done and seen; that is all I can do.”

“It is enough.  You must not also take on the pain of every creature; you will not be able to function, to do good.  Maybe that is the lesson you must take from Christmas.  Do what is in your power to improve your life and the lives of others around you.  Jim, you have done this for me.”

Jim laid his head against Spock’s shoulder and stared into the fire.  Part of him wanted to believe Spock and part of him thought his analysis was too simplistic.  Spock wouldn’t change his mind.  Jim had seen too much.  He closed his eyes and let his mind drift.

A couple of hours later, Jim found himself suddenly awake, head in a warm lap, a heavy arm draped around him, Spock’s breath was even in sleep.  Jim reached around and pressed his hand to his lover’s steady beating heart. 

He didn’t buy Spock’s religious argument but was grateful they’d had the chance to talk about it.  He supposed that if he did believe in God, he should thank him for this one gift, this kind gentle man who would move heaven and Earth, regardless of whether he actually believed in them, to bring Jim a touch of Christmas spirit.

Jim sat up with a stifled groan and pulled Spock’s drowsing body into his arms.  Spock’s ability to sleep through almost anything had always been enviable.  At the moment, Spock was almost dead weight in his arms, head resting on his shoulder.  Jim took a deep breath, smelling the soap and incense coming off of his soft skin and took a bite.  It was really more of a nip at his earlobe but it had its intended effect, Spock’s eyes opened with a snap.

It was fifty – fifty whether or not Spock would be cranky or aroused when he woke up.  Jim was counting on the latter so wasn’t surprised when Spock began to rub his face against his, so like a cat, not that he would ever admit to it.  Spock hummed low in his throat. When it turned into a grumbling sound, Jim knew he had his full attention.  Spock’s hands approached Jim’s face.   He couldn’t help smiling; this was when he would go for a kiss.  

Spock suddenly drew back, eyes narrowing.  “What do you find amusing, Jim?”

Jim sighed.  Again, this was when Spock would begin a verbal battle.  It gave them an emotional breather.

“I was merely thinking how comforting it is to make love with you, how I know exactly what will happen next, and when.”  This was Jim’s classic bait.

Spock’s eyes narrowed further.  “Are you suggesting our love making is comforting?  Predictable?”

“Well, yes, but in a way that . . . gives . . . uh, comfort?”  Jim realized he had an angry Vulcan in his arms, trembling with the affront.

“But Spock!  I love this, I love you!”

Spock pulled away, holding Jim at arm’s length and looked in his eyes. Jim thought he saw a shadow of amusement there.

“Perhaps, Admiral, I should endeavor to be a bit more unpredictable.”

Just as Spock was about to pounce, Jim grabbed his face with his hands.

“No, not right now.”  Jim smiled gently.  “Right now, I just want to make love to you.  We can save the ‘unpredictable’ for later.”

Spock’s eyes crinkled at the corners and Jim felt affection wash through him.  Using his thumbs, he stroked over Spock’s psi points, and watched his eyes close with pleasure and his mouth relax and soften.  Spock leaned closer, breathing across Jim’s face, so close Jim could feel the flutter of his eyelashes on his cheek.

Jim kept stroking and tilted his head to the side, bringing his mouth to Spock’s, tracing the edge of his smile with soft lips.  It was difficult to kiss Spock when he was smiling like this. Their teeth clashed and Jim swore with amusement as they both stopped, noses touching, and grinned.  

After a moment, Jim saw Spock’s brown eyes deepen in thought and then darken; his smile was gone, replaced by the sharp look he got during the first flush of arousal.  

Jim tightened in response, suddenly feeling the soft flannel draping his body, rub against his nipples, and wrap around his cock.  Spock always likened Jim to a flamethrower; when he was off, he was cool and calm, when he was turned on, and there was no middle ground.  Jim was on, shaking with his need for Spock and still trying to slow down, to keep it tender.

Spock’s own desire unfurled in his belly.  He pulled Jim into his lap, setting him astride.  Spock slowly removed Jim’s pajama shirt over his head and when faced with Jim’s soft skin, moaned softly, rubbing his face on every square inch he could reach, hands open, fingers fully extended as they stroked Jim’s broad back.

Jim wrapped his arms around Spock’s shoulders and pulled them tightly together. He pressed his mouth to Spock’s ear and whispered to him.  He knew it was successful when Spock arched against him, making a quiet noise. One hand tangled in thick straight hair, the other reached down the middle of Spock’s back, pulling his robe free of the couch.  Spock shifted his hips slightly and Jim was able to pull the robe off completely.

Spock tortured himself for a moment, rubbing against Jim’s flannel sleep pants, the friction both too much and not enough.  Finally, instinct got the better of him and he lifted Jim slightly off his lap, sliding the pants off of him.  Of course, they were still tangled around one of Jim’s legs but Spock pushed them aside and with both hands grabbed Jim and pulled him closer.

Jim hissed, grabbing the back of Spock’s head, fingers tangling and pulling at his hair.  He brought his mouth down on Spock’s, kissing him open mouthed, teeth clashing, tongue pushing for entry.  Spock tensed, shocked for a moment.  Jim felt him begin to tremble, fine movements that followed the quick beating of his heart.  Jim dropped his hips and ground against Spock, enjoying the shivers along his skin.

Spock made a noise in the back of his throat and kissed Jim back, matching him passion for passion, stroke for stroke, strong hands pulling and almost pinching Jim as he began to lose himself.

For a moment, Spock considered stopping and taking this into the bedroom.  He wanted to take Jim, stretch out over his welcoming body, thrusting into a musky darkness, tight and hot.  That very thought was enough to send him over the edge as he pried his face from Jim’s, buried his head in his shoulder, crying out Jim’s name, until he was spent, shudders finally coming to a stop.

Jim had felt Spock’s orgasm coming like a train, relentless, unstoppable, and it took every inch of control to not follow him.  The warm splash of semen across his belly, the pulsing of his erection, his cries of passion were all too much.  Jim reached down and willed arousal away with a hard grasp.  When he thought he had control, he released himself and pulled Spock’s head from his shoulder and looked into vague, foggy eyes.  Jim loved him with all his heart, each cherished inch.  He kissed his eyelids gently, closing his own eyes, overcome for a moment with emotion.

Spock managed to get Jim off of his lap and laid him down on the couch, using the arm as a pillow.  Ever practical, Spock used Jim’s sleep pants to wipe them both off and managed to get his own robe beneath both of them.  Making love was wonderful unless it stained the antique velvet couch.

Spock knew Jim was very aroused, almost too close.  This was, of course, exactly how he wanted him, on the edge.  Spock reluctantly left Jim’s mouth and kissed his way down his body, breathing in Jim’s odor, tasting his sweat, cleaning snail trails of semen from his stomach with a delicate flip of the tongue.  This technically wasn’t teasing, it was a journey.

Bending lower, Spock stopped kissing, covering himself with Jim’s scent.  All Jim could feel was sharp cheekbones, pointed ears and nose, soft dark hair against his sensitive skin.  Jim made a noise of protest; he wanted his mouth on him.

Spock looked up then, eyebrows raised.  “Don’t you dare tease me, Spock!”  Jim sounded ragged.

Spock didn’t answer but his eyes twinkled.  Jesus.  He was evil.

Deciding to be merciful was difficult, but Spock was capable of it.  He dropped his head and began licking Jim’s length.  Jim hated him a bit when he did this.  It wasn’t enough and he knew it.  Jim just ground his teeth, knowing that Spock could hear it, and prayed for relief.

Finally, convinced Jim was right and truly annoyed, Spock took the tip, lips just below the sensitive glands and began to suck, gently, lightly, as though he had all the time in the world.  This was when Jim remembered; this was revenge for that last evening before Spock left for Altair.  Jim had spent at least an hour, repeatedly bringing Spock to the brink and then dropping him. When he’d finally brought him to satisfaction, it was like a cannon going off, and the shriek . . . well, if Jim were wise, he’d never remind Spock of that particular sound.

Jim just lay back and pretended it was some form of Klingon torture. Actually, that was a bit too arousing, so he pictured a Tellerite.  That was far better at maintaining his control. 

Spock, frustrated that Jim was exercising too much command of the situation, decided to go deeper, nose brushing Jim’s wiry hairs, his musk and pheromones saturating his senses.  

Damn him.  When Spock’s mouth completely engulfed him, when his jaw relaxed and Jim could feel the back of his throat, when the rhythm picked up to a punishing pace, when the bastard swallowed repeatedly, it was all over.

Jim thrust into Spock’s mouth, and came with a yell.  Spock gratefully and gracefully swallowed, pulling off, with a slight smile.

Jim grabbed his face.  “You . . . vile . . . bastard!”

“I . . .”

“Don’t even say your parents were married.  I suspect even Surak would be ashamed of you right now!”

Spock licked his lips and his eyebrows shot into his hairline. “You are aware that shame is a human emotion, one Surak, no doubt, never experienced.”

Jim pulled him into a sloppy kiss and whispered, “I love you,” into Spock’s now flushed ear.  Finally, Spock sat back on his haunches, looked at the wreck they had made of the couch with a shake of his head and got up to add a log to the low burning fire.  Jim admired his naked backside, olive skin glowing in the firelight, muscles moving under his skin . . . but then . . . Jim couldn’t suppress the howl of delight.

Spock turned to look at him with a frown.

Jim just laughed harder, tears rolling down his face.  Spock stood beside the fireplace and put his fisted hands on his narrow hips but before he could respond, his eyes followed Jim’s finger, which was pointing to his feet.

Spock looked down and noticed he was still wearing his fluffy white slippers.  He knew absolutely, why Jim thought this was hilarious, but he would never, ever, admit to it.  

Spock drew himself up to his full height and gave Jim a dignified look.  Jim’s eyes were screwed closed in laughter so he never saw the shadow of a smile on Spock’s lips.  God forbid they should ever admit to each other that Spock was willing to make fun of himself, if only to amuse Jim.

Fire set, Spock slid back onto the couch, gathering Jim in his arms. He kissed his temple once, eyes closed.  Jim spread an afghan over them both.  Spock stared at the fire, Jim looked at the tree. 

Curled together, Jim reached blindly across the couch for a well-wrapped Christmas present, sitting forlornly, lodged in a cushion.  Spock roused himself sufficiently to bat his hand away.  

Jim sighed.  He guessed he’d have to wait until tomorrow to open it. But then, he already had his present, cuddled against him, and lit by the fire’s glow. 

Jim would never be a fan of Christmas, but over the years, he had come to associate it with Spock, who might not believe in it, but would always do his best to keep the spirit of the holiday.

**Author's Note:**

> Merry, merry, happy, happy! Bring me some joy and tell me what you think.


End file.
